


I Can't Help But Care

by ChronicCombustion



Series: Scars On My Sleeve (For All the World to See) [3]
Category: Persona 4
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Fluid Naoto, M/M, Mentions of Izanagi (Persona 4), Mentions of Shadow!Souji (Persona 4), Mentions of Shirgane Naoto, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Naoto is there but only via text, Non Binary Naoto, Souji is trying, Trans Male Character, Trans Souji Seta, Yosuke is amazing, binder safety is importnat kids!, it's so much less in this one guys I promise, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicCombustion/pseuds/ChronicCombustion
Summary: “Souji... How long have you been wearing that?”“Uhm. All day?” Souji tilts his head, expression darkening, closing off, and his arms rise just slightly – likely unconsciously – as if making to cover himself, to hide. He frowns and his eyes turn to steel. “Why?”It clicks. It clicks in the worst way possible and Yosuke’s breath leaves him like he’s been punched. “You wore that inside the tv,” he accuses, a realization, not a question. “Youfoughtin that. Souji, youfought in your binder?!”





	1. I Over-Communicate and Feel Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up two days late with Trans!Souji AU*
> 
> So this is late; I meant to have it up this past Friday, but the damn thing just kept _growing!_ As it stands, this fic is the longest one I've posted for this series so far. (22 pages, 10,110 words) Because of the length and because it took so long, I'm going to be posting this as a twoshot rather than the oneshot it was originally meant to be - which means I'm posting the first chapter today and the conclusion on Friday, bumping the first chapter of the main fic back just a little longer. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I hope the length makes up for it~

The sun has already started going down by the time they make it from Junes to the Dojima household, their tired bodies protesting the trek after spending the last several hours jacked on adrenaline and combat.

Yosuke sighs. The outline of the house against the darkening sky is a welcome sight; his limbs are sore and he’s itchy from the sweat drying under his t-shirt, so right now all he wants is to take a nice hot shower and cuddle with his boyfriend. And food. Food would be good.

He looks over at where said boyfriend is sluggishly walking along beside him and catches another tiny wince crossing Souji’s face. Yosuke feels his own face twitch in sympathy. “You okay?” he asks, voice quiet in the encroaching dusk.

Souji glances at him, lips quirking in the barest hint of a strained smile. He doesn’t answer verbally, just gives a nod before suppressing a grimace as another step jostles him and makes his breath hitch.

Scratch that, Yosuke thinks with a frown, what he wants to do _first_ is make sure Souji’s taken care of.

They shuffle up to the front door like a pair of zombies. It takes a second, but Souji finally manages to dig his keys out of his pocket with clumsy fingers and get the door unlocked. He turns the handle and leans his weight on the door with his shoulder, letting the power of gravity do the rest of the work for him. In turn, Yosuke leans his own weight against Souji and the two of them go spilling into the entryway in the most graceless fashion imaginable. Yosuke doesn’t even care if anybody saw – he just leans back against the door and pushes it shut again with his body weight. He lets himself sink to the floor with a groan and shuts his eyes.

“Maaaan,” he drawls (not whines, he absolutely, definitely does _not_ whine), “why’d they have to hit so _hard_ today?”

Beside him he hears fabric rustling as Souji shifts, followed by the soft _‘tap’_ of a shoe hitting the floor. Yosuke cracks his eyes open just a smidge, watching as his boyfriend shoves his shoes off to the side with his foot before moving to peel himself out of his uniform jacket with aching slowness. Souji’s body is tense, his actions halting, and Yosuke pushes himself up a bit straighter to examine the other boy more closely.

Souji stands with his feet slightly apart, keeping his center of gravity lowered like he does in battle, except not nearly as extreme. His entire torso is rigid, his shoulders and back tight as he tries to get his jacket off with as little movement from the waist up as possible. He grunts as he slides one of his arms out, the motion seeming to pull at his side in a way that hurts him.

Yosuke bites his lip. “You sure you’re okay, bro?”

Souji looks over his shoulder at him as best he can without actually turning any part of his upper body. “I’m fine,” he breathes – and the way he says it sounds most certainly _not_ fine.

Yosuke raises his eyebrows.

Souji seems to catch just how _not fine_ his voice sounds because he huffs out something vaguely like a self-depreciating laugh before confessing, “I… my ribs kind of hurt a little.”

Guilt slices through Yosuke like his kunai through a shadow and, aches and pains be _damned_ , he sits upright so fast his joints pop. He opens his mouth to apologize but before he can get a word out, Souji’s cutting him off.

“No don’t– I’m _fine,_ Yosuke. Please don’t apologize.” Souji’s face screws up in that worried way of his and Yosuke knows, he _knows_ that Souji is feeling guilty about Yosuke feeling guilty.

But Yosuke is having none of it. He pushes himself up off the door to his feet – only wobbling a tiny bit as his thighs burn – and reaches out to gently tug the other sleeve off his boyfriend’s arm. “I just… I couldn’t help it, you know?” he says softly, a little sadly. He wants to do what he normally does, which is to loudly contest Souji’s concern and apologize anyway, but he’s worn out and he knows Souji’s worn out and right now it just seems a better use of both their time for him to act rather than talk.

Souji sighs. “…I know. I can’t say anything, though; as much as I hate it when you take a hit for me – when _any_ of you do it,” and here he tilts his head to give Yosuke a firmer, more pointed look that evaporates the exhaustion from his features for a millisecond before he softens, “I’d do the same for you.”

“I know you would.” Yosuke leans in and brushes his lips against the corner of Souji’s mouth. One hand comes to rest gently against the small of his partner’s back, the other reaches up to catch one of Souji’s hands and curl their fingers together. Souji hums against him and Yosuke nuzzles his jaw before leaning their foreheads together. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Souji closes his own, a faint, contented smile stretching into existence over his face.

They stay that way for a moment, sharing warmth and space in the quiet of the entryway. The house beyond is silent; Nanako is spending the night at a friend’s house while Dojima works himself to an early grave like he always does. There is no true darkness, though, as the last remnants of fading sunlight pour into the windows and bathe the world in ambers and golds. It’s like a moment suspended in time, just for them, and Yosuke pointedly pushes from his mind the memory of tackling Souji to the ground, narrowly avoiding being hit himself, as one last tricky little shadow had popped up from behind its fallen comrade and attacked while their leader’s attention had been elsewhere.

He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

He feels Souji start to droop and nuzzles him again. “Hey,’ he murmurs, “you should head on up. I’m gonna order dinner.”

Souji shifts, bleary eyes blinking up at him. “There’s food here…”

“Yeah, no, you’re passing out on me, I’m not letting you cook right now.” He grins at his boyfriend’s flat look and nudges him carefully with his shoulder – making sure not to move Souji too sharply lest he hurt him.

Souji huffs but doesn’t argue. Instead he readjusts his weight and leans away to stand on his own again. The next breath he exhales is a little stuttered, his expression a little tight, and Yosuke uses the hand on Souji’s back to keep him steady as he steps the rest of the way into the house. He’s just starting to toe his own shoes off when Souji turns slightly to give him one last glance.

“You want the first shower?”

Yosuke shakes his head. “Nope! You need it more than I do, Partner.” He makes a shooing motion with his free hand while the other he very deliberately shoves into his pocket to dig out his phone. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

Souji’s shoulders relax just a fraction – just enough that only Yosuke, who knows what to watch for, would be able to catch it – before he gives in with a grateful smile. “Get whatever,” he says, easing his wallet out and handing it over, despite Yosuke giving him A Look. He huffs a laugh. “You bought last time.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Yosuke decidedly _not_ taking Souji’s wallet and Souji’s eyebrows climbing higher and higher towards his hairline. Eventually, (because _goddamnit, Souji)_ Yosuke relents and takes the wallet with a long-suffering sigh.

He does his best to imitate his boyfriend’s earlier flat look and thinks he nearly nails it dead on. Souji, in turn, just smirks and steps further into the house and towards the stairs.

Yosuke watches him until he’s out of sight before lolling his head back and making a noise of deep exasperation at the ceiling. He’s so _weak_ for his boyfriend, _what the hell?_

\---

It’s a good few minutes later when Yosuke wanders up the stairs after his partner. His shoes are off, dinner has been ordered, and Souji’s probably soaking his sore muscles, so there isn’t really a hurry to get to the second floor. Except for possibly getting the chance to catch a glimpse of Souji in a towel, because even dead on his feet Yosuke is a healthy teenage boy and his boyfriend is naked in the same house as him, so really, he can’t be blamed for his mind slipping to dirtier places upon occasion – even if he’d never act of anything until Souji was comfortable.

Distracted by the thought of Souji in the shower, it takes Yosuke far too long to notice that he doesn’t actually hear the sound of running water. He’s nearly at the landing before he realizes that he doesn’t hear much of anything at all. “Partner?” he calls, stamping down on the instinctive flare of worry in his gut.

There’s a faint noise from Souji’s bedroom, a hiss of breath, and Yosuke feels himself going on alert. He hurries up the last couple of steps and strides over to where the door to Souji’s room stands ajar. He raps his knuckles against the wood – _once, twice, thrice_ – out of courtesy.

“Dude, you okay?”

A pained huff is his only response for a moment and Yosuke chews his lip.

Then, “…I’m stuck.”

This makes Yosuke pause. He doesn’t know what Souii means by that, but it’s clear his partner needs a hand. Then again, Souji is still nervous being around him in any state of undress that involves his waist downward. Depending on how much clothing Souji has already shed, Yosuke’s presence could very well do more harm than good. The last thing he wants is to make Souji uncomfortable – or _worse –_ so despite how badly he wants to rush to his partner’s aid, Yosuke forces himself to stay put until he’s given the okay.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

There is a beat of silence before Souji responds. When he does, his voice is strained, aggravated, and more than a little embarrassed. “…Please do.”

Yosuke immediately pushes the door open and steps inside.

He is greeted by the sight of Souji in the middle of the room in his underwear and not much else. His pants have been kicked off to the side, his shirt a puddle of fabric on the floor by his feet next to his discarded jacket. Souji himself is flushed in the face and shaking slightly, though whether it’s from pain, frustration, or the chill on his exposed skin is hard to tell. He stands with his arms wrapped around his waist, fists clenched, and his expression as he looks over at Yosuke is nothing short of _done._

It takes Yosuke another few seconds to spot the tight, flesh-colored fabric covering his boyfriend’s upper torso.

“I can’t lift my arms up high enough,” Souji is saying, and Yosuke snaps his attention up to Souji’s face.

Souji gives the fabric in his grasp a weak tug for emphasis. “Could you…? If I could just…” He shifts like he’s trying to scoot the fabric up past his ribcage, wincing a moment later and flattening his elbows against his sides. He sighs. “I should have splurged on that one with a zipper,” he mutters bitterly to himself.

Oh.

Oh!

Yosuke’s tired brain kicks back in and the second the words “could you” are out of Souji’s mouth, Yosuke is moving towards him. He reaches his side and stops, hands hovering near Souji’s wrists uncertainly.

It isn’t just that he’s not sure what he should be doing; given a bit more instruction he’d be just fine. No, it’s the fact that Souji is _shirtless_ and wants Yosuke to help him get _more_ shirtless that has his head short-circuiting. Is this a breach of boundaries? Should he close his eyes? He knows where the line is in regards to anything lower than Souji’s hipbones, but they haven’t really talked much about Souji’s chest. And yeah, he’s seen Souji in his binder before, but only once, and only briefly.

Yosuke’s been trying to avoid asking Souji potentially painful questions about his body ever since the “I Hate Everything About Myself From the Waist Down” conversation. He would rather cut his own dick off than see Souji have to go through something like that again.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Yosuke twitches his fingers nervously at the hem of his boyfriend’s binder. He chooses his words carefully before he speaks. “What do you need me to do?” he finally settles on, keeping his voice low and gentle.

Souji whines softly. It sounds more like a high, throaty hum, but Yosuke has heard it before and recognizes it for what it is.

“If you could help me get it over my head…”

Yosuke chews his lip in thought. “Can you bend forward? Will your ribs let you do that?”

“I can try.”

Souji drops his hands to his sides and Yosuke takes half a step back to give him room. Haltingly, and with no small amount of effort, Souji manages to duck his head and shoulders towards Yosuke, who gingerly takes hold of the edge of the binder.

“Ready?” he asks.

Souji hums.

“Okay.” Yosuke tightens his hold on the fabric and tenses. “I’ll pull up, you slide back.”

Carefully, so, _so_ carefully, Yosuke starts to tug the binder upwards, letting it curl over itself as it travels up the length of his partner’s torso. He keeps a sharp watch for any sign that he’s going too quickly, too roughly, but other than the way Souji’s breath stutters as he bends further down there is nothing.

As the binder reaches just below Souji’s pecs, Yosuke hesitates. “Uh, Partner?” he starts, swallowing as his boyfriend tilts his head back up as best he can from his half-folded position. A silvery eyebrow quirks in silent question.

“Is this… Should I look away or something? Are you okay with this?” A bit late now, Yosuke thinks to himself, considering he’s got Souji essentially trapped with his spine bent as his arms partly crossed between them.

Souji huffs – not quite a laugh, not quite a noise of disbelief. “As much as I appreciate that,” he says with a crooked half-smile, “at this point I just want the thing off.”

Yosuke is about to retort when Souji’s face suddenly melts from eternally-patient to something darker, more anguished and worried with that dusting of self-dislike that Yosuke would give anything to take away. “I mean,” he starts, near a whisper, “you _can_ look away, if this is going to be too weird—“

“N-no!”

Souji blinks at Yosuke’s outburst – hell, even Yosuke is a little startled at the sudden sound of his own voice. He only wastes a second on it, though, because he can practically _hear_ the gears turning in his partner’s head and he knows what path Souji’s anxious mind is going to try and go down. He takes a quick breath.

“It’s not like that. It’s just…” Yosuke licks at his lips, buying time as his words form. “You’re perfect to me, you know that, right?” He sees Souji’s eyes widen incredulously. Yosuke takes it as a good sign. “But if there’s something you aren’t ready for me to see yet, then I’m not gonna look.”

Souji just stares at him, his eyes wide and intense under the fall of his hair. Seconds pass in silence until Souji finally lets out a long, slow breath through his nose. He ducks his head, tucking his chin into his collarbone, and brings his arms up so that his shoulders are at their narrowest. “Pull,” he instructs, and his voice has lost its nervous edge. For the briefest of moments he is Leader, not Souji.

Yosuke has no choice but to obey.

Twisting his fists so that the hem of the binder is wound as securely in his hold as he can get it, Yosuke braces himself and _tugs._ Souji pulls backwards sharply, digging the balls of his feet into the floor and taking a single, definitive step away from Yosuke. The binder peels away from his skin like a molting snake and as soon as it’s cleared his head he’s standing up straight and tugging his arms back down. The binder catches on Souji’s elbows, slipping from Yosuke’s hands, and folds – upside down – over Souji’s chest, hiding it from view.

The action is not kind to Yosuke’s partner. Souji gasps in both relief and pained shock as he rights himself, goose bumps rising visibly across his skin as every inch of still-drying sweat from under the binder is exposed to the air. He nearly doubles back over, teetering unsteadily as he tilts his head towards the ceiling and making a low, gravelly noise behind clenched teeth. “Oh my _god!”_

Once again, Yosuke is out of his depth here. He hovers, taking an aborted step in his boyfriend’s direction, and waits.

Eventually, Souji evens himself out. He’s shaking harder now and his face is screwed up in an obvious grimace, but he’s free from his binder and the earlier mix of frustration and desperation is finally gone. He slumps, looking up at Yosuke through the grey curtain of his hair. _“Thank_ you,” he breathes. “Holy shit…”

Yosuke takes this as a sign that all is (mostly) well and finishes taking that step closer. “You good?”

Souji nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He scowls down at the beige fabric still wrapped around his arms as though he wants to burn a hole through it with his eyes. He stands there for a second, likely thinking, before he glances back up at Yosuke and seems to come to a decision. With a huff – one that is _definitely_ not a laugh this time – he slides his right arm out of the constricting wad of cloth.

“My chest is… better.” He sighs. River-water eyes flick between Yosuke and the binder, a bit of pink coming to dust across the bridge of Souji’s nose. “…Than my…” He makes a vague gesture with his free hand towards the black boxer-briefs sitting low on his hips. “…Everything else.”

Souji quickly clears his throat and moves his hand back up to keep the binder pressed against him. He lifts his head to look Yosuke in the eyes. “It doesn’t bother me as much as the rest of it does.” He chuckles softly, breathily, and the corners of his mouth lift in a tired, weak smile. “I’m lucky; there’s really not enough up here to count for anything. It’s easy to hide.” And with that, Souji lets his hands drop and tosses the binder off to the side. It lands on the couch with a muffled _‘plop.’_

Yosuke feels his stomach bottom out.

This should be a milestone between them. Under nearly any other circumstance he would be _thrilled_ that Souji is finally starting to be comfortable enough around him to be completely shirtless in the same room because all he ever wants is for Souji to feel _safe_ , to be _happy._ But instead of honored, (like he always is when Souji trusts him with something like this) or sappy, (like he always is whenever Souji smiles) Yosuke finds himself bordering on horrified.

“Souji.”

The other boy startles a little, blinking at Yosuke with a slowly furrowing brow.

Yosuke knows how he sounded just then, is fully aware of how cold he probably seems as he stares blatantly at his best friend, his boyfriend, his _partner’s_ chest. He knows; the dread in his lungs is too heavy for him too care. “How long have you been wearing that?”

“Uhm. All day?” Souji tilts his head, expression darkening, closing off, and his arms rise just slightly – likely unconsciously – as if making to cover himself, to hide. He frowns and his eyes turn to steel. “Why?” he asks. Calm. Too calm. The way he says it makes the single syllable frost over and drip with defensive chill.

A wolf backed into a corner, teeth on full display.

Yosuke feels numb. All day. Souji had been wearing his binder the _entire day._ And even as he tries to scour his brain for a memory of any time during the day that Souji might have been able to slip away and change his clothes, Yosuke knows there isn’t one. They’d walked together to school that morning, ate together at lunch, headed straight into the tv after school, and then walked back together afterwards. They’ve been together the entire time.

That’s what makes Yosuke sick to his stomach. They’ve been together the _entire time –_ and that’s the thing; ever since Izanagi’s dungeon Yosuke has _known_ that Souji wears a binder. He’s _known_ but he keeps _forgetting_ , and now, staring at the harsh, angry red lines that have etched the outline of Souji’s binder into his flesh, the places where the chafing and the marring almost looks bad enough to be mistaken for _blood_ just below the skin, Yosuke hates that he _forgets._

What kind of boyfriend is he that he just lets his best friend nearly tear his own body apart?

But that’s not even the worst of it. The way Souji’d been in visible pain as he moved before, every little jostle of his torso making him hiss and wince; it’s deeper than just the welting marks and the patches of irritation that damn near look like they’ve been sandpapered. Yosuke’s stomach rolls as he remembers how he’d tackled Souji to the ground only hours ago. He’d landed on top of him, knocking he wind out of Souji’s lungs for a moment as the shadow’s claws slashed through the empty space above them where Souji’s head had just been. _Oh god._

_…oh GOD._

It clicks. It clicks in the worst way possible and Yosuke’s breath leaves him like he’s been punched. “You wore that inside the tv,” he accuses, a realization, not a question. “You _fought_ in that. Souji, you _fought in your binder?!”_

Souji looks like he wants to retort, to snap his wolf teeth and bite back out of fear, but there is also confusion in his eyes. Like Yosuke’s earlier question didn’t lead where Souji had thought it would, (and Yosuke can hear Izanagi’s manic, mournful voice in the back of his memory: _“If you ever found out, you would hate me!”)_ and now he’s not sure where to direct his mounting panic. Souji rocks back on one of his heels, shoulders hunching as he adopts a stance that loosely resembles the one he uses in battle.

“I always do,” he says, flat and frigid. The ice in his voice is betrayed, however, by the way his arms come up to cross just over the swell of his chest.

“You always—!” Yosuke cuts himself off before his horror results in him yelling. He runs a hand through his hair, curls it tight around his fingers, and looks at his friend with every ounce of dismay he feels. “Your _ribs._ Partner, I _tackled_ you!”

Souji barks a humorless laugh. “I didn’t really have anything to do with that.”

The laugh is good – the laugh means Souji’s not so far behind his walls that he can’t be reached. Yosuke’s head is swimming. There are a hundred things chasing themselves around and around inside his brain and he can’t get the ones out that he wants to say. He’s never been as good with words as Souji.

As Yosuke scrambles for the right way to voice his fears, Souji must finally decide he isn’t about to be verbally attacked or rejected like he thought he was, because the battle stance eases up slightly. He still stands with his arms draped slackly across his chest, eyeing Yosuke warily, but the fight-or-flight appears to have subsided at least a little.

His voice is still guarded, though, when he says, “It’s not a big deal, Yosuke.”

Which is exactly the _wrong_ thing to say.

Yosuke gapes at him. “Not a big—The hell?! You’re in pain; why would you wear your binder _in the tv?”_

The look Souji gives him is a mix of many different things – incredulity not the least of them. “Why do you think?” he scoffs. “They may be an A-cup, but they’re still there.”

“No, that’s! DUDE!”

“Look,” Souji cuts in, once again trying to end the conversation before Yosuke can manage to put his argument in order. “It’s _fine._ I’ve been doing this all year and I’m _fine._ Besides…” and here he glances away for a moment, carefully schooling his expression. “Naoto wears _their_ binder in the tv.”

Ohhhhh no. No way is Yosuke letting Souji deflect like that. He must be running out of ways to say he’s “fine”, because Yosuke is pretty sure the tactic Souji just tried to employ is him scraping at the bottom of the proverbial barrel.

“No, they don’t,” Yosuke says, knowing full well he’s right. “They double up on sports bras when we’re about to go fight monsters. _Besides…”_ He bites out the last word, throwing it back to emphasize his point. “Naoto isn’t a melee fighter.”

A stunned silence follows. Souji blinks at him, stormy eyes wide, and Yosuke idly wonders if the other boy’s face is starting to hurt. Souji has emoted more in just the past hour or so than Yosuke has seen him do in a week.

It’s Souji that breaks the quiet. His tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip – a habit he’s apparently picked up from Yosuke, unless he’s just never been outwardly nervous enough for it to happen where anyone can see. When he speaks his voice is tiny, shaky; the shield he hides himself behind lowered for now. “H-how do you know?”

“They use a gun, bro.”

Souji shakes his head. “No. I mean, how do you know what they wear inside the tv?”

“Because I asked them.” Yosuke sighs, shifting his weight lower now that the tension has started to bleed out of the room. He crosses his arms and leans back on his heels. “After Izanagi…” he starts hesitantly. He wants to pick his words wisely; Souji nearly walled him out a few minutes ago and Yosuke adamantly wants to avoid that happening again. He’s Souji’s Safe Place, his anchor – both his and Izanagi’s words – and Yosuke will do everything he possibly can to not break Souji’s trust.

He starts again. “After everything, when we got you home and you were still out of it, I went and talked to Naoto. They gave me a bunch of websites to check out on like, what to do to be supportive and how not to say stupid shit that might hurt you.”

Memories of things he’s said in the past flit across his brain and Yosuke lowers his eyes for a moment to ride out the twinge of shame and guilt. Even if he hadn’t known at that time, even if he would never have said half the things he did if he’d even _thought_ it might have made Souji sad or uncomfortable, he can’t change that he’d been a complete asshole for the entire first half their friendship. No matter how much he’d like to go back in time and slap himself.

When Yosuke looks up again Souji is watching him with a soft kind of knowing in his eyes. It’s familiar and so very Souji that Yosuke almost laughs in relief. _There’s_ his Partner – patient and empathetic to a fault, even when Yosuke’s being stupid.

Although technically, Yosuke thinks, out of the two of them it was Souji that made the more questionable decisions this time.

Sweeping away the bout of self-depreciation, Yosuke schools his features back to chiding. “The internet also told me one way I could help was making sure you didn’t wear your binder for more than eight hours.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly and is secretly pleased when Souji’s expression turns just a little bit guilty. “And that you should never exercise in it.”

“I don’t—“

“Pretty sure _fighting_ counts as exercise, dude.”

Souji’s patented Flat Look ™ returns. They stare at each other for a minute – Yosuke holding his ground and Souji holding his gaze despite how hard it must be to do so.

The stand off ends with a soft, nearly inaudible puff of breath as Souji laughs silently. He closes his eyes and shakes his head minutely, looking fond and slightly disbelieving when he looks back up at Yosuke and smiles. “You voluntarily researched binder safety?”

Yosuke immediately feels himself flush. “Well yeah!” he sputters, not a little indignant. “Considering I know _two_ people now that wear them.”

Souji’s shoulders shake a little as his silent laughter gets harder. The smile stretches just the tiniest bit, like he’s holding the sound back behind his lips. The fondness in his expression grows brighter – a hint of something proud lacing the edges of it.

But the warmth Yosuke usually feels from a look like that is tempered, dampened, and he runs a hand through his hair with one corner of his mouth drawing downwards in a frown. “Not that it really matters if I completely space that my boyfriend might be wearing it to fight in.”

Souji doesn’t respond.

In the quiet, Yosuke takes a second to trail his eyes back over the harsh red marks outlining his partner’s torso. Some of them are blocked by Souji’s arms, but he can see the worst of them – up along Souji’s collar bones, across the soft parts of his shoulders, just below his armpits.

_Shit._

It’s then that Yosuke realizes that Souji is, in fact, still standing almost naked in the middle of the room after being on his feet for _hours_ , with ribs that are probably still aching from being squeezed into a binder all day.

He takes a step forward, keeping his movements slow and watching Souji carefully to make sure the other boy is okay with being approached. When Souji makes no indication that the action is unwanted, Yosuke closes the distance between them and reaches out. He doesn’t touch though, just lets his hands hover over the raised red line running along his boyfriend’s right shoulder. “Do they hurt?” he whispers.

Souji sighs quietly through his nose. “A little. More irritating than anything.”

Yosuke tentatively touches his fingertips to the unmarred part of Souji’s shoulder – making sure not to accidentally brush the damaged skin. “What about your ribs?”

He feels Souji shift experimentally, catches the wince on the other boy’s face as he does. “Yeah,” Souji breathes, “those still hurt.”

Amber-colored eyes lift to seek out stormy grey. He chews at his lip for a moment before asking, “Is it from me slamming into you or…?”

A gentle hand comes to rest on one of Yosuke’s elbow as Souji glances down at the fingers on his shoulder. “Probably. But they were already sore to begin with.”

Well. That doesn’t really alleviate Yosuke’s guilt, but at least he isn’t the sole cause of Souji’s injury. Not that he feels any better about having aggravated it. Still, cause or not, Yosuke doesn’t like that Souji _is_ still in pain, and anything he can do to make it even marginally better, he’s going to do it. He knows he’ll probably blame himself – for not noticing sooner, for ramming straight into Souji’s ribcage – until Souji’s pain is gone and the red on his skin is healed, but for now he’ll do whatever Souji needs him to do.

He leans in, brings his forehead to touch against Souji’s and lets his eyes slip to half-lidded. Souji mimics him, nuzzling their noses together as he hums softly.

“Hey,” Yosuke whispers.

Souji meets his gaze.

“How can I help?”

There is a moment of quiet between them. He watches Souji watching him, flicks his eyes downwards as Souji’s lips part to answer him…

There is a loud knock on the front door.

They pull apart with a startle. For a good few seconds they just stare over at the hallway beyond Souji’s doorway – Souji blinking like an owl and Yosuke trying to reorient himself with reality. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to remember that, oh yeah, he ordered takeout.

Souji seems to come to the same conclusion because he takes another step away from Yosuke and smiles, nodding towards the door. “You should get that.”

Yosuke nods dumbly and absently pats his back pocket to make sure he still has Souji’s wallet.

His boyfriend exhales, short but audible, and moves – stiffly – to grab his neatly folded sweatpants off the desk. “And I should… probably go shower.” He glances over at Yosuke questioningly, which Yosuke answers with a shake of his head.

“All yours, Partner.”

Souji gives him a nod.

They leave the bedroom together; Yosuke heading for the stairs and, subsequently, the front door, and Souji following him out before veering off in the direction of the bathroom with his change of clothes held tightly against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic and chapter titles are taken from 'Feelings' by Hayley Kioko
> 
>  
> 
> Like my work? Wanna geek out with me or buy me a coffee? Come and hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/DaemonSparks) or [tumblr](http://chroniccombustion.tumblr.com/)~


	2. I Just Complicate it When I Say Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, you—Don’t apologize, man.” Yosuke places his hand over the one Souji’s using to fish for his discarded shirt and gives it a squeeze. He groans behind his teeth. “I’m the one that should be sorry; this is the first time you’ve ever had your shirt off around me and all I’ve done so far is act like an ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BINDER. SAFETY. IS. IMPORTANT. 
> 
> Souji's injuries are based off my own personal experiences; I can't tell you how many times I screwed up when I was first starting out with binders and wound up with welts and sore ribs. (Didn't help that I had the wrong kind of binder at first, either. Make sure you do your research and get one that fits.) So right now, as your Unofficial Trans-Masc Older Brother (tm), here is my PSA to everyone reading this:
> 
> If you're wearing a binder right now, stand up, stretch your back, take a few deep breathes and inflate your lungs. Have you been wearing it for 8+ hours? TAKE IT OFF. Do not exercise in your binder, do not sleep in your binder, if you're starting to chafe or you feel any kind of pain - TAKE. IT. OFF. Dysphoria sucks, but your health is important. 
> 
> <3

The shower is running by the time Yosuke makes it back upstairs. It had taken him all of thirty seconds after paying to decide that he really didn’t want to bother setting up in the living room, so, food in hand, he plunks down on the floor in front of Souji’s coffee table. Originally he’d planned on letting Souji shower first while they were waiting; Souji’s showers never take very long, so the food probably would have arrived right as Yosuke was finishing up his own. He likes it when they eat together, since it’s almost like a stay-in date when the setting is right.

Now, though, for obvious reasons, that particular plan has been ever so slightly derailed. He could wait; he’s hit the point of exhaustion where he doesn’t really feel the hunger he knows is there. However, if _he_ waits on _Souji_ , then _Souji_ will wait on _him_ , and Yosuke doesn’t much like the idea of making his boyfriend wait any longer than necessary.

So he starts in on his food and waits for his partner to get out of the shower.

Souji reappears not long after, still shirtless, but dressed in his pajama pants with his sleep shirt tucked into the crook of his elbow as he scruffs a towel over his hair. He carefully seats himself beside Yosuke and offers him a quirk of his lips – a tired, fond smile.

“All yours,” he murmurs, mimicking Yosuke’s earlier words. He reaches out to snag his own bowl of takeout and pull it closer.

Up close, Yosuke can see the binder marks along Souji’s skin. They’re fainter now, still red but not as angry as they were before. A lot of the lesser chafing has all but faded, leaving only pink patches here and there in between the heavier outlines.

Yosuke must take too long to respond, because Souji looks over and catches him staring. He glances away, down at his own torso, and seems to curl inwards out of habit. “Sorry,” he says. He gropes around for the shirt he’d let fall beneath the table and starts to tug it closer.

“No, you—Don’t apologize, man.” Yosuke places his hand over the one Souji’s using to fish for his discarded shirt and gives it a squeeze. He groans behind his teeth. “I’m the one that should be sorry; this is the first time you’ve ever had your shirt off around me and all I’ve done so far is act like an ass.”

Souji huffs a laugh. He turns his hand over in Yosuke’s and folds their fingers together, giving a squeeze in return. “A protective ass,” he murmurs, voice teasing. “But I kind of sprung it on you, too.” He sneaks a glance back up at Yosuke from the corner of his eyes. His hand on the table fiddles nervously with his unbroken chopsticks. “Does it bother you?” he whispers. There is a thread of sadness in his tone now, of worry, like he’s still convinced that Yosuke will suddenly find him disgusting. He gestures at the irritation along his shoulder with his free hand, using the chopsticks like a pointer. “They’re still tender; the water helped but I’m afraid if I put my shirt on they’ll stick to it.”

Yosuke doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he slowly leans forward until he’s able to properly catch Souji’s eyes. Gently, he raises their clasped hands and brings Souji’s fingers to his lips, brushing them over each one before pressing a quiet kiss to the back of Souji’s hand. “Nothing about you bothers me,” he whispers against his boyfriend’s skin. He watches Souji watching him and lets a soft smile stretch over his features where Souji can see. “I know I’m not doing a great job of showing it, but I’m really glad you took your shirt off.”

Souji looks at him with an expression full of affection and awe, so warm that Yosuke can feel it in his chest like sunlight. Souji is like a sun, but shyer – a guiding star in the darkness – and Yosuke wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone he’s already fallen for a hundred times over.

And then, suddenly, that warm expression becomes one of mischief as Souji _snerks._ It isn’t really a snort, much like all of Souji’s other laughter is never really laughter in the conventional sense; it’s a light, gravely sound in the back of his throat that grows into his usual breathy huff through the hint of his exposed teeth.

“Are you now?” he asks, somehow managing to keep his voice level despite his sniggering. His eyes gleam in a way they haven’t since before the two of them left the tv world, mirthful and _happy_ and it makes Yosuke’s stomach swoop.

Even if he’s being teased for his unintentional innuendo.

He lets out a noise of exasperation – not the first one of the night – and rolls his eyes so hard his head drops back to rest on the couch seat behind him. “Oh _ha ha,_ dude, and here I was feeling all sappy ‘cuz you’re actually comfortable around me.”

Souji _‘snerks’_ again and clings to Yosuke’s hand when Yosuke tries to pretend he’s done enough to pull it away. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding it at _all._ “Couldn’t help it.” He sighs happily and tugs on the hand on his own until Yosuke relents and leans sideways.

Souji rests his head on Yosuke’s shoulder and hums. His breath is warm on Yosuke’s skin, even through the fabric of his shirt. Souji is warm, solid, _real;_ how did Yosuke ever get so lucky? He tilts his head and brushes his lips over Souji’s forehead, earning him another hum in response.

“I knew what you meant, though.”

“Yeah?” Yosuke shifts just enough to be able to search for Souji’s eyes beyond that silvery shimmer of his still-damp hair.

“Yeah.”

They stay that way for a few minutes, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, Yosuke feels Souji’s breathing start to grow shallower and he nudges his boyfriend gently with his shoulder. “Hey, man,” he murmurs, and soft grey slowly blinks up at him through moon-colored lashes. ( _God,_ Yosuke is so weak for him.) “You still need to eat and I’m pretty sure I smell like a gym bag, so…”

Souji sits up. He winces slightly as his skin moves, but he makes no outward protest to being disturbed from his spot on Yosuke’s shoulder. Instead, he just rolls his shoulders back – or, at least he tries, but it doesn’t seem to do him much good since he’s obviously trying not to jostle his ribs too much. “Mm,” he agrees, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He releases Yosuke’s hand and scoots closer to the coffee table, sitting up straighter as he locates both of his forgotten chopsticks.

Yosuke pushes to his feet, legs reminding him that that he, too, had spent several hours fighting shadows. He takes a second to press a kiss to the crown of Souji’s head before picking his way over to his bag to retrieve his sleep clothes. He pauses again just before he steps into the hallway and looks back over to where his boyfriend has finally started poking at his dinner. “You gonna be okay?”

Souji smiles sleepily around the end of his chopsticks and nods.

\---

 **Yosuke:** hey got a ?4u

 **Yosuke:** u evr get binder rash?

 **Naoto S:** THAT IS A VERY SPECIFIC QUESTION. I ASSUME UR ASKING FOR SOUJI-SENPAI?

 **Yosuke:** yea. he left his binder on 2 long & now hes got red marks

 **Naoto S:** HOW LONG DID HE WEAR IT 4?

 **Yosuke:** all day

 **Yosuke:** & n the tv

 **Yosuke:** Naoto he fights n it

 **Naoto S:** HE WHAT???

 **Naoto S:** NO THAT IS TERRIBLE HE SHOULD NVR DO THAT

 **Yosuke:** ikr?

 **Yosuke:** hes got mad chafing. messed his ribs up 2

 **Naoto S:** DO U NEED ME 2 SCOLD HIM?

 **Yosuke:** nah i alrdy did

 **Yosuke:** maybe 2moro tho

 **Yosuke:** cant hurt

 **Yosuke:** how do i help him 2nite?

 **Naoto S:** 4 THE IRRITATION TREAT IT LIKE A SUNBURN OR SKINNED KNEE

 **Naoto S:** USE ANTI-BAC MED ON BROKEN SKIN. LOTION ON REST

 **Naoto S:** RIBS R TRICKY. HOW BAD?

 **Yosuke:** idk? he can move ok just seems sore

 **Yosuke:** he took a shwr. think hot watr helped

 **Naoto S:** GOOD. MOBILITY IS GOOD

 **Naoto S:** IF NOT 2 BAD THEN BACK RUBS CAN HELP

 **Yosuke:** ty!! ur the best!!!

 **Naoto S:** I AM AWARE

\---

Yosuke takes his time rubbing the water out of his hair, standing in the bathroom in his pajamas with a towel in one hand and his phone in the other. Honestly, Naoto is a godsend – they’d been endlessly helpful after Souji’s dungeon, when Yosuke desperately wanted to learn but was afraid of bombarding Souji while he was still recovering. Naoto had been patient, too, which is always a bonus when dealing with someone like Yosuke who never _meant_ to be an asshole but was so out of touch he might as well have glued his foot directly to his mouth and called it a day.

He really would have to find a way to thank them somehow. Preferably in the near future.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, Yosuke glances around the bathroom. Lotion will be easy to get his hands on; Souji has a bottle of it over on his desk, probably for situations just like this. (Yosuke frowns at that thought but tucks it away because now is not the time.) Antibacterial medicine is the thing he actually has to go looking for, and despite how awkward he feels poking around in Dojima’s stuff, it’s for a good cause. Squashing that awkwardness, Yosuke digs through the medicine cabinet before finally locating a tube of gel.

He does his best to put everything back the way it was, before finally stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to where his boyfriends waits.

Souji looks up as he enters, giving him a slow upturning of his lips. He sits with his arms crossed over the top of the coffee table, like he’d been resting his head on them before Yosuke walked in. His shirt is still on the floor where Souji left it earlier, the irritation on his skin so faded now that other than the fiercest of the red lines his torso looks almost normal again.

“Hi,” he says sleepily. “I put the leftovers in the fridge already.”

Such a Souji thing to do, Yosuke thinks, returning the smile.

He steps over to the desk and snags the little bottle of lotion before plopping down beside his boyfriend. He presses a gentle kiss to the crest of Souji’s shoulder, earning a happy little hum in return. “How ya feeling?” he murmurs, eyeing the chafe lines closest to him.

Souji shifts. “Better. It’s starting to pull, though.”

“Ribs?”

A quiet huff. “Well I can breathe.” He looks over at Yosuke with fond eyes. “Just feels like I slept wrong now.”

Yosuke sets the tube of antibacterial gel and the bottle of lotion on the table in front of him. “Can I do something?” he asks quietly, pulling back enough so he can watch Souji’s expression.

Souji quirks a brow at the items on the table but doesn’t answer.

Yosuke scratches absently at his cheek. It’s one thing for Souji to be comfortable being shirtless around him; if Souji doesn’t want Yosuke actually touching his skin then that’s a roadblock Yosuke will have to respect. Even if it’s technically for medical purposes.

“I mean,” he tries, searching for a way to ask without being weird. “Are you okay with me touching you? Not—! Not in like, a sexual way, I just…” He gestures helplessly between Souji’s reddened skin and the stuff on the table, hoping it will be clearer than his failed attempt at words.

Luckily, Souji seems to understand, because he slowly nods after a moment of silent deliberation.

Yosuke lets out an exhale of sheer relief. He could probably have coerced Souji into letting him rub gel onto his shoulders but he’s not terribly keen on doing that. Souji’s trust is important to him; he doesn’t even want to chance _bending_ it, let alone break it.

Taking up the gel first, he angles himself so that he’s facing Souji more completely. He unscrews the cap and squeezes a bit onto his finger, rubbing it between them to warm it up a little. “Can I?” he asks softly. He’s already been given permission, technically, but there’s no harm in double-checking.

Souji nods again. He shifts a bit, getting closer and leaning his shoulder in for Yosuke to start with.

Yosuke takes a moment to look at the chafing up close. It’s not as bad as it had initially looked – thank god – and most of the surrounding redness has faded out. All that remains, of note, at least, are the places where the edges of the binder had rubbed Souji’s skin raw to the point of breaking it. Yosuke doesn’t see any actual blood, though, which means that most if not all of the damage is surface-level. Okay. He can handle that. With all the weight of a feather, Yosuke touches his gel-covered fingertips to his partner’s battered skin, just outside the worst of if.

Gingerly, hesitantly, he starts to pat his way along the outline. He keeps his focus on his work but spares a glance upwards now and then to check and see how Souji is doing. Neither of them speaks for the next few minutes; the only sounds are the soft _‘plip plip plip’_ of the gel as he carefully works it into Souji’s wounds and the occasional hiss of discomfort in response. When Yosuke finishes with the side he can reach – Souji’s shoulder and back being the worst of it, with only one spot beneath his underarm where the first layer of skin has peeled away – he heaves himself up and moves around to get at Souji’s left.

The left side of Souji’s body is marginally better than his right had been. The marks under his arm are just barely red, thankfully unbroken, and his shoulder has far fewer patches of broken skin than Yosuke had been expecting. The only place that looks as bad as before is along the curve of Souji’s shoulder blade where the binder scraped as Souji pulled his arm across himself to wield his katana. Yosuke bends down and brushes his lips over the unmarked expanse of Souji’s spine. His boyfriend makes a stilted, muffled sound low in his throat.

“Why do you wear it in the tv?” he whispers into his partner’s vertebrae. “Why don’t you just do what Naoto does?” He squeezes another heavy bead of gel onto his fingers and starts the process all over again.

Souji hums. It’s not his usual hum; it’s lower, like an audible frown, and Yosuke can picture the way his boyfriend’s brows draw together “I can’t,” he murmurs after a pause. “The binder’s the only thing I have.”

Yosuke stills. He looks up from the outline he’s been working on and tries to peer around the side of Souji’s face to catch his eyes. “Wait, so… Nothing else?”

Souji’s lips press into a thin, straight line. He stares ahead of him, eyes fixed somewhere on the far wall, and slowly shakes his head.

Yosuke sits back, hands falling away from his partner’s back to rest palms-up on his folded knees. He blinks stupidly at the back of Souji’s head. “Not even like a sports bra or…?”

“No.”

“Do you just not own any?”

_“No.”_

“Oh.” Yosuke bites down on his lower lip and chews it, nervous. It’s clear he’s hitting on a sore spot here, and he wants to press harder because this is something affecting Souji’s health, but he also recognizes the tightness in his leader’s voice. There isn’t a wall between them _yet,_ but the cinderblocks sit ready, just in case.

He takes a deep breath, then takes the leap. “Why?”

Souji’s body goes rigid – the lines of his back sharpening as he tenses. But then he’s sighing, louder than he usually is, and slumping back down as the tension ebbs away. When he speaks his voice is tired, small, and Yosuke has to lean in a bit to hear him.

“I had a panic attack the last time I tried to go shopping for one.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Yosuke feels his face burning with awkward guilt as everything hits him with crystal clarity. Of _course_ Souji wouldn’t own one; the poor guy couldn’t have just casually gone wandering through the women’s underwear department without getting the _worst_ kind of stares, and even if he could his anxiety would have made it impossible to ask for a fitting room.

He wouldn’t have anyone to buy them _for_ him, either, since it’s not like his parents would ever have bothered to buy him _anything,_ especially clothes. The only other options would have been to come out to a stranger in order to ask for help, or to go shopping dressed as a girl, which… No. No, absolutely not. Yosuke clamps down on that thought before he makes himself sick.

He remembers how pale and empty-eyed Souji had been when Izanagi had revealed himself, remembers how violently Souji had been shaking as his shadow-self descended the stairs with long silver hair and a short uniform skirt.

Never again.

Yosuke sets aside the tube of gel and eases his arms around Souji’s middle, well below the chafing and the aching ribcage. He leans forward and rests his head between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, careful to avoid any reddened skin or still-drying gel. Before he closes his arms, he whispers, “Is this okay?”

Souji’s reply is to lean back into Yosuke’s embrace and drape one of his own arms over the ones around his waist. “You’re always okay.”

Yosuke laughs softly. “I’m still gonna ask, though.” He gently squeezes his arms – more a twitch than anything – and nuzzles against Souji’s back.

Pressed together like this, Yosuke can feel the vibrations in his partner’s body as Souji hums; they spread through Yosuke’s chest and feel like home.

“It’s appreciated,” Souji says.

Yosuke could stay like this all night. He kind of wants to, but with his face pressed so close to Souji’s damaged skin he can feel that faint traces of heat still lingering in the chafe lines and he knows he still has just a little bit left to do. “Speaking of,” he starts. He waits for Souji to tilt his head back in Yosuke’s direction. “Would it be okay if I gave you a backrub? Or are your ribs too sore for that?”

Souji thinks a moment, gauging. Yosuke can feel the way Souji stretches and tests just how much his torso will let him move. He grunts, just once, and catches on a movement when he tenses too much on one side, but makes no other outward show of pain as he assesses his body. “They’re… tender,” he finally says, voice thoughtful. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” As if to further clarify his permission, Souji sits back up and leans across the table once more, leaving Yosuke to miss the feeling of warmth against his chest.

To compensate, and to make everything easier on the both of them, Yosuke tucks a leg up underneath himself and shifts so that he’s directly behind his boyfriend, with Souji positioned between his legs once Yosuke gets settled. It’s so domestic and _intimate_ that Yosuke has to take a moment to remember what he’s doing and not just wrap his arms around Souji’s waist again and press their bodies back together.

He shakes his head to clear it before Souji can start to wonder if something’s up, and reaches past the other boy’s shoulder to snag the lotion bottle off the coffee table. There will be time for cuddling later. A whole lifetime’s worth, if Yosuke has anything to say about it. For now though, back to work.

Just as carefully as he had with the medicine, Yosuke takes a small amount of lotion, warmed between his hands, and starts to swipe it over the parts of Souji’s back that need it most. It’s nothing special, just something to help keep chapped skin from cracking open, but Naoto had said to treat it like a sunburn and Yosuke’s had enough sunburns in his life to know that dry skin peels in horrible ways. Granted, he’s never had the kind of chafing that Souji is dealing with, but he trusts Naoto’s advice.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish up with Souji’s back and sides, gently soothing the lotion into his partner’s skin. He hesitates when he gets to Souji’s front, which he _would_ try to avoid but there’s a bit of irritation on Souji’s collarbones and Yosuke is certain the skin further down is probably in need of attention, too. Luckily, Souji is as observant as ever and holds his hand out wordlessly for the bottle. Yosuke presses a kiss to Souji’s neck in silent thanks and lets his boyfriend tend to his chest on his own.

While Souji is busy with his chest, Yosuke devotes his attention to Souji’s ribs. Slowly, pressing as lightly as he can to start, he uses his lotion-slick hands to smooth across the planes of his partner’s body. He digs his fingertips in when it seems he isn’t causing Souji any pain, pushes in with the heels of his palms when he can feel Souji stiffen under his touch. He doesn’t knead, nor try and undo any knots – there aren’t any, really, not around Souji’s torso – just gently works his hands over aching bones to try and alleviate the worst of it.

At one point he works up the courage to slip his hands around to the place just below the high points of his partner’s chest. He stills, asking for permission with his pause, and Souji gives it in the form of a nod and contented sigh. Yosuke keeps his fingers on safe places; he won’t go further up until Souji is ready.

When he finally moves back up to Souji’s shoulders, that’s when Yosuke finds the knots of stress at their worst. He’s always wondered how much his partner – their leader – really carries on his shoulders, both physical and metaphorical. He’s seen Souji roll his neck in battle and sometimes it seems less of a way to loosen up before a fight and more like a bid to keep his body from locking. The worst is when they’ve been under a time crunch, back before, when their friends and team members had been trapped in their own personal hells with only a few days to save them before the next blanket of choking fog.

Yosuke presses his thumb into a spot just between Souji’s shoulder blades and feels something shift that makes the other boy groan in appreciation.

All that pressure that Souji works under, the weight he carries, and all of it on top of being in an article of clothing that he should never be fighting in, should never wear as long as he does each and every day. Yosuke feels something in his heart twist at the thought of his boyfriend being in physical discomfort, or even _pain_ nearly constantly because of this. And yet Souji has never once complained. Instead, he bottles everything up and lets it sink like a stone until he’s drowning. No wonder Izanagi had seemed so exhausted between his bouts of mania.

And that just leads to another thought that leaves a bitter taste in Yosuke’s mouth. Does Souji even get to relax at home? He’s too polite, too worried about other people’s comfort; it wouldn’t surprise Yosuke if Souji wore his binder right up until it was time to head upstairs for the night so that he didn’t have to be around his family with nothing on under his shirt.

Yosuke is finally pulled from his thoughts by the sound of shallow, even breathing. He blinks, bringing himself back to the present, back to Souji’s bedroom with his boyfriend nestled comfortably between his legs. The sight before him makes his heart stutter in the best of ways.

At some point while Yosuke was absorbed in his musings, hands methodically running patterns along his boyfriend’s back, Souji had slumped forward across the coffee table and laid his head in the crook of his own elbow. His eyes are closed now, and from his spot behind him Yosuke can see the delicate way Souji’s pale eyelashes rest against his cheek, the way the long day has melted from the lines on his face. Souji looks so peaceful in sleep – it’s not something Yosuke gets to see often, but is forever grateful that _he’s_ the one that gets to see it when it does happen. Not all of Souji’s dreams are good, he knows, but for tonight it looks like his partner is somewhere safe inside his head.

Yosuke sighs. He hates to wake his boyfriend up when he looks so serene, but bent over a coffee table is not a good way to sleep; if Souji’s back wasn’t already sore, it sure as hell would be after a night spent like that.

Yosuke carefully hoists himself up – trying to let Souji have a few more minutes of peace before he wakes him – and moves as quietly as possible while getting everything squared away. He pulls the futon out and fluffs up the squashed pillows, plugs in both his and Souji’s phones, switches off the lights. In the morning, he’ll text Rise and Naoto and ask them if they’d please take his partner shopping, since Naoto will know what to look for and Rise can be their foil in case the boy and the gender fluid detective get any strange looks while looking at sports bras. They’ll take care of Souji; Yosuke doesn’t know if there’s anyone he trusts more than their friends.

For now, though, it’s late. There’s no school tomorrow, no work, no tv world. When they wake up they’ll have the house to themselves. There’s nothing to rush them or keep them from sleeping in.

When Yosuke finally manages to wake his sleeping boyfriend and usher him into bed – shirt still in a heap in the floor – Souji is dead asleep again the moment his head hits the pillow. Yosuke, however, keeps his eyes open for a while longer, watching the easy rise and fall of Souji’s chest as he breathes. He slips his arms around Souji’s waist and presses them as close together as he can, so that it’s nearly impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

He drifts away like this, wrapped protectively around the person his heart has decided to call home, with Souji’s shoulder beneath his lips and a silent promise to help heal him echoing in Yosuke’s head.

He wakes in the morning to the sight of Souji’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic and chapter titles are taken from 'Feelings' by Hayley Kioko 
> 
>  
> 
> Like my work? Wanna geek out with me or buy me a coffee? Come and hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/DaemonSparks) or [tumblr](http://chroniccombustion.tumblr.com/)~


End file.
